


13 angels standing guard

by vampireshunterd



Category: Castlevania (Cartoon)
Genre: Implied/Referenced Character Death, im sad, this is just a result of months of derealization, you ever torture yourself for NO FUCKING REASON
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-05
Updated: 2018-11-05
Packaged: 2019-08-19 09:28:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16531889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vampireshunterd/pseuds/vampireshunterd
Summary: a dhampir's only two friends never make it back home.





	13 angels standing guard

**Author's Note:**

> " while i sleep, he stands there  
> not so far away  
> with his white hair and sad smile
> 
> i stand up and slowly crawl my way to him  
> now I know he will not run away "
> 
> while i sleep (scary adventures) // soley

alucard loses himself in his own madness.

they waved to him with warm smiles and hearts full of love, words strung together as if they would come visit again. if he had foreseen that such a bright day would be the last time he would gaze at the two lovers, bouncing about like rabbits waiting for adventure, he would not have left off on a negative note. no, the dhampir would've held both their hands and given them the longest look he possibly could.  

at this point, adrian fahrenheit tepes has lost count of how long it had been since he saw the two ride into the cover of the trees.

he reads a lot. the libraries carry enough knowledge and imagination to last a thousand human lifetimes. but adrian is no human being, and at this point he has already read every book. every romance with couples holding hands and gazing at the starlight, every history of ancient kings and queens that have since been left to perish in the dirt, every medicinal tome on how to heal bruises, cuts, and broken limbs. he has not yet found a book on how to heal grief, heal heartbreak, heal the loneliness that has been eating at his mind for the past few years.  entire sentences and chapters of books are rewritten to give him a new adventure. he'll dance with himself in the hallways and ballrooms of the castle, whether it be solitary ballets or partner dances. adrian suits himself up in frills, an outfit made after sketches he found in one of his mother's journals, and asks the ghosts for a dance.  there is no echo back, and yet he glides across the tile as if there was a warmth in his arms. 

he normally thinks of trevor.

he remembers when his mother wanted to change the drapes in a hallway, change the candles, stain the furniture in a room, and he's done it all. every single modification she ever wanted has been given breath, but in spouts of anger and sadness, he destroys it and must start over. "it wasn't perfect enough, she wouldn't have put that chair there. no, the drapes are too short." she would have been happy with whatever he did, but he forgets that. alucard remembers existence his mother's warmth but not the extent.

even in his decoration, there's a room he hasn't touched in decades.  the door to his childhood bedroom is blocked off, replaced with a bookcase of eastern european histories. the whole room is a museum of dust now.  he wants to sleep with one of the old toys his mother made him in a time he can no longer remember, but he knows he'll break down and cry at the sight of the ashes still gathered on the floor and the torn carpets.  the star map above his head glitters in his vision when he closes his eyes. adrian refuses to go into that room, refuses to clean it.

he keeps a garden outside, mostly for small vegetables. he doesn't bother to trade with the villagers, says he's saving the food for a welcoming feast in case sypha and trevor find themselves back to his home.  deep down, he knows they're dead, that they'll never come back, but the denial has crept into every vein of his brain.  the food rots when he stores it away for his comrades.  

it the spring, the garden flips into a field of flowers.  daisies, poppies and other sprouts of color blanket the castle grounds, and it looks like something straight out of a fairy tale, the only thing missing being a young girl with a basket to stroll up and discover its ancient secrets.  adrian has tried to plant the white ones that his mother used to adore, but they keep dying. he's read every gardening book, tried every trick he knows, but he doesn't know what he's doing wrong. it's the 30th spring and they keep dying earlier and earlier in the season. they have never bloomed properly.

something hangs around the castle corridors with him that isn't an escape squirrel or an occasional bat. hell, the dhampir can't tell if they're figments of his imagination or ghosts anymore. his father likes to hang around the atrium staircases, glaring over the carpets and the open door that beckons outsiders by baiting their curiosity.  sometimes alucard hears the nails along the cobblestone walls of the hallways, especially in the one that leads to his old bedroom.  his mother spends time in the alchemy rooms and the libraries.  conversations ensue between the figures, and despite alucard's vast knowledge, he sometimes cannot understand a single word.  not that he wants to. he kneels down, covers his ears and closes his eyes when he hears laughter. his own, his own from so, so many years ago. his mother is there, spinning around her only child, but she is looking at him, puzzled, wondering why her little boy is so sad, but he cannot see her. he refuses, tightening his eyes and keeping his head to the floor. blood drips onto the floor from his lips, he's biting his lip too hard again. he shakes his head.

"please! please, go away!"

they never do. not when he wants them to. not until they're finished their thoughts, their inaudible messages. alucard wonders if this is the work of the devil. satan's revenge for the son of dracula's sin: sloth.  the sin of not being there when his mother screamed in pain, her flesh sizzling and her ashes scattering across wallachia only to help the plants grow in the next harvest. the sin of hiding in sleep to avoid his task, avoiding what he knew he had to do.  the beckoning of the stone coffin, telling him to spend the rest of existence in, entranced in a deep sleep he will never wake up from.

but he doesn't. he stays awake permanently for the humans who blessed his life.  it's a promise he made to the hunter and the scholar.  and he'll be able to tell them he kept his promise until they meet again in the field of reeds.


End file.
